Implementation of Ideals
by Ravariel
Summary: None of the amis have been able to help him so far, and Jehan is running out of options. When it's finally Enjolras or no one, he adopts a new strategy. No longer a one shot, and will probably be sporadically continued when I feel need of cuteness.
1. Chapter 1

"Combeferre, do you like cats?"

Combeferre turned in his desk chair to see Jehan, who had appeared at his door suddenly and without greeting. "Cats?"

"Yes, cats." Jehan was holding a covered basket and looking rather nervous. "Do you like them?"

Combeferre examined the basket. "Are you sure you aren't asking something else? Because if you are asking whether I _want_ a cat—"

Jehan blushed. He came and set the basket on Combeferre's desk, pulling back the lid to reveal a sleeping kitten, no more than a few weeks old. "See? He's adorable. I found him in an alleyway."

Combeferre ran his fingers along the kitten's side. "He's quite thin."

"Yes."

"I'm surprised he's alive."

"So am I. Do you think you could—"

"Could what?" Combeferre raised his eyebrows.

"…keep him? Doctor him? I've already got a cat—you've met Czarina, haven't you?—and my landlady told me I couldn't have another. Besides, Czarina thinks she's an aristo and would likely resent the presence of an impoverished _citoyen _like this one."

"Jehan," Combeferre said, "I hate to disappoint you, but I have no time to take care of a cat. Have you asked any of the others?"

"Yes." Jehan sighed. "I've been everywhere this evening. He made Joly sneeze within thirty seconds, so Joly and Bossuet are out. Feuilly says he doesn't have the time or money; I wouldn't trust Grantaire with any kitten, let alone a sick one; Bahorel told me outright that he's never liked cats. Courfeyrac made some vague protests which in the end came down to that the last time he had a kitten in his room, it left fur all over his clothes and poked holes in his favorite hat. So Courfeyrac wouldn't take him. Are you sure—"

"I'm sure."

"Then do you have any ideas on what I should do with him?"

Combeferre looked back at the diagram of constellations he was working on and picked up his pen. "I regret to say that my mind is rather blank on the matter," he said. "But I suppose you could ask Enjolras."

"Do you think—"

Combeferre smiled at him. "I rarely have any solid thoughts on a hypothesis until there is some experimentation."

Jehan smiled back. "And in translation from the Combeferrian dialect, that means—" He pantomimed thumbing through a dictionary. "Ah, here it is. Most likely translation into the vernacular is _it could be worth a shot._ Would that be correct in this context?"

"It would be correct, yes."

"All right," said Jehan. "All right, I'll try."

A few minutes later, he set his basket down against the wall in the hallway outside Enjolras' door. He knocked twice.

"Come in?"

Jehan squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get rid of the nervousness. He cracked the door open.

"Hello, Jehan," Enjolras said, getting up, coming to the door, and leading him in. "What brings you here this evening?"

"I, uh—I had some questions," he managed.

Enjolras turned to the table where he had been working, squared up some piles of books, and gestured for Jehan to sit down with him. Enjolras wasn't as messy with his work materials as Jehan was, but he was nowhere near as neat as Combeferre, Jehan noticed as he straightened some papers that were lying about. He paused to look at the one on top, which seemed familiar. Was it—

"An article on public education," Enjolras told him. "Found it in a back corner of a journal I picked up this morning. You might be interested, actually. The author—he remains anonymous—made several points very similar to ones you have made in the past. It's very well done; both the arguments and the writing style are quite compelling."

Jehan glanced at it again, suppressing a blush. As he'd suspected, it was his own work. "I think I may have already come across it."

"Did you enjoy it? I found it exemplary."

He shrugged. "I liked it rather well. Some flaws here and there. But—"

"Oh, forgive me," Enjolras said. He set his things aside and folded his hands on the table. "You came for something in particular, didn't you?"

Jehan nodded. "I—" _came to ask if you wanted a cat._ But no, he couldn't say that. "I came to ask about implementation of ideals."

"Implementation of ideals," Enjolras repeated.

"And the alphabet."

"Les abaissés?"

"Exactly." He nudged his chair closer to the table. "We're trying to implement our ideals by seeking revolution, of course. And that's important, I know, trying to create a society in which those ideals thrive. I just—want to know how important you think it is to practice principles in the current society. And how you think it should be done."

"It might help, Prouvaire, if I knew exactly what ideals and principles are on your mind."

"Citizens' rights, basic dignity, you know the sort of thing," he said. "Equality. How much of a responsibility do we have to implement those in daily life? Only when there is an open choice before us of affirming or denying them? Or is it our duty to seek out as many of the abased as possible and restore to them every detail of their rights that we can?"

"Are you asking whether a revolutionary must subsequently be a humanitarian?"

"In a manner of speaking. But, well—yes. I suppose." _Does humanitarianism apply to starving kittens?_ He suddenly realized that a few moments before he had implied that a cat was a citizen. Oops. At least he hadn't said _human _rights.

"That sounds like the sort of question which might better, perhaps, be put to Combeferre."

"I've already _asked_ Combeferre," Jehan protested.

"Oh? What did he tell you?"

_That he had no time to take care of a kitten._ "He…was busy. I didn't get a very satisfying answer and he told me to ask you."

"Oh, I see." Enjolras considered. "It would seem that it would follow, yes—that the practical outworking of belief in equality would be both revolution and altruism. Though I would say that some are called more to one and some to the other."

"But we have an obligation to both?"

"Yes." Enjolras examined Jehan with those disconcertingly blue eyes of his. "But you are more of a philanthropist than most, Jehan. I think you knew already the answer to your question."

"Well, yes…"

"And yet you came for something in particular."

He could feel the blush coming again, and this time he couldn't hide it. From the warmth of his face he knew he was distinctly red. "I came to ask if you would help me care for—one of the abased."

Enjolras raised his fine blond eyebrows at Jehan's blush. "Why, yes. If I could be of help. What would you like me to do?"

The blush had reached his ears now. He shook his hair to hide them. When he finally spoke his voice was very quiet.

"I'd like you to take care of a kitten."

"Excuse me?" Enjolras had apparently not heard well.

Jehan raised his head timidly. "I'd like you to take care of a kitten," he forced out. "I found him starving in an alleyway and he might be going to die—Combeferre said so, said he was surprised the kitten wasn't dead already, in fact—and my landlady forbade me to have another cat because she doesn't really like to check up on Czarina when I'm out, and besides Czarina is a monarchist and doesn't approve of the attention I give to any other cats, let alone downtrodden pitiful things like this one—and Joly sneezed about him and Bahorel said he couldn't stand cats in general and Courfeyrac complained about how a kitten had once ruined his favorite hat and—it's one of the abased, you see. And I can't just put it back on the streets."

Jehan stopped, vaguely surprised at his ability to create such a run-on sentence, and tried to sound rational. "I'm just asking if you could take care of it for a few weeks, maybe a month. Until it's a little healthier and could survive on its own."

"Very well," said Enjolras.

Jehan blinked. "You mean you will?"

"I suppose cats, as well as humans, are entitled to certain rights."

"Among which are life and liberty?" Jehan grinned.

"And deliverance from the oppression of tyrannical aristocrats." There was a hint of a smile in the corner of Enjolras' mouth. "Where is this subjugated little citizen, Jehan?"

"He's been waiting." Jehan retrieved the basket from outside Enjolras' door and set it on the table. Enjolras uncovered it, and the kitten inside complained at the sudden brightness.

"Oh hush, petit," Jehan told him, picking him up and handing him to Enjolras. "You're being raised into the light. –There. Isn't he soft?"

Enjolras looked at the tiny, fragile being that he held in his cupped hands. "Yes."

"He'll need milk. And also a name."

"You haven't named him?"

"No. That's your job. You may call him Égalité or Danton or Avenir or whatever you please—you can even call him _Chaton_if you are at a loss—but you must name him. The fate of the citizen is in your hands, Enjolras—you are the one to give him a future—and that makes his name your responsibility. Or your privilege. Now—" and he leaned in to kiss the kitten on the head, despite a weak mew of protest—"I'm off home to see to my own citoyenne. I'll teach her to believe in equality one of these days, the aristo!" He clapped Enjolras' shoulder in farewell. "In the meantime, you can implement your ideals."

And he went out, leaving Enjolras with the mewing kitten.


	2. Chapter 2

"Combeferre."

Combeferre turned away from his desk for the second time that evening. "Yes, Enjolras?"

Enjolras came in, shut the door behind him, and wordlessly placed a basket on Combeferre's desk. The white kitten inside sat up, peering over the basket's edge with green-blue eyes.

"Ah," said Combeferre. "Hello again, little one." He looked up at Enjolras. "So you took him?"

Enjolras nodded.

"I am glad."

"I am at a bit of a loss. Combeferre, I have never named a kitten."

Combeferre smiled. "My sisters did most of the kitten-naming in our household. I did, however, have a Vesalius of whom I was rather fond."

"He is very small," Enjolras mused. "Very fragile."

"Probably not a Danton or Robespierre, then."

"No, no. He is one of the abased, Combeferre."

"As a name, I meant. I suppose you could simply call him Abaissé, but…I'd have thought Jehan would have named him."

"No, he said it was my responsibility."

Combeferre nodded. "Well, Enjolras, a name isn't necessarily the first thing he needs. A bath and some milk might be first priority."

"I'll go down and ask the concierge. May I leave him with you?"

"Of course."

Enjolras disappeared through the door. Combeferre, shaking his head a bit at the improbability of the situation, picked up the kitten and placed him in his lap. He looked at Combeferre suspiciously, but soon settled down under the gentle stroking of his warm hand.

It wasn't long before Enjolras came up with a saucer of warm milk and a bowl of warm water. Combeferre gestured for him to set them down on the floor, then scooped the kitten into his hands and moved to the floor with it. Enjolras sat down with them, still looking at the tiny, fragile animal with an air of composed confusion.

"How old is he?"

"Four weeks or so, I should think, calculating in slow development from malnutrition."

"Is he able to drink on his own?"

"We'll see." Combeferre set the kitten next to the milk, dipping a finger in it to touch to the tiny pink nose. "If not, we can help him suck from a twisted bit of cloth."

The kitten was not able to drink on his own. Combeferre pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Enjolras, who carefully twisted the corner and dipped it in the milk, then picked up the kitten as if it would break in his hands. Combeferre helped him to hold it gently but securely in a feeding position, and Enjolras offered it the twisted cloth.

The kitten suckled weakly, but eagerly. Enjolras devoted his full concentration to holding and feeding it, carefully dipping the handkerchief in the milk until Combeferre bade him stop.

"But he is still hungry."

"But if he eats too much too quickly, he will become ill." Combeferre reached for the handkerchief, and Enjolras handed it over. "You'll have to feed him every few hours, though."

Enjolras nodded. "I will wake to do so. Where ought he to sleep? In the basket?"

"Yes, that's fine—just put another blanket in it to make sure he doesn't get chilled." He took the basket off the desk. "You see how Jehan placed this one, as if to form a nest—kittens feel safer in small spaces."

"I see." He was cradling the kitten in both hands. "Should we wash him next?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"Use your handkerchief—get it damp, but not wet, and rub gently at the dirt. He'll start cleaning himself when he's stronger."

With extreme caution that obliged Combeferre to repress a chuckle, Enjolras set the kitten on his lap so that he had a hand free to pull out his handkerchief. The concentration that came over his face as he dampened it and dabbed at the kitten's grimy, unkempt white fur made him look like a small child.

When the kitten was cleaner, almost truly white again, and beginning to purr, Enjolras finally looked up and pushed his hair out of his face. "I still do not know what to call him."

Combeferre smiled slightly. "You will think of something eventually. For now, why don't we just call him your little citoyen? Jehan did."

He nodded. "Very well. –I suppose the little citoyen ought to go to sleep? His eyes are closed."

Combeferre offered him the basket to place the kitten into. "He will eliminate on the blanket probably several times during the night; you'll have to have it washed. He's too young to do otherwise, but soon you can begin teaching him to use a small box with sand in it instead."

Enjolras set the kitten in the basket and stood up. "Thank you, Combeferre."

"You're quite welcome. Come by if you have any questions, especially if you think he's not doing well."

"I will." He looked rather relieved. Combeferre clapped a hand to his shoulder in farewell, and Enjolras, cradling the basket, went out.

Back in his own flat, which was just down the hall from Combeferre's, he set the basket down on the table while he removed one of the two blankets from his bed, then transferred the kitten onto the bed while he did his best to arrange the second blanket inside the basket with the first. It didn't seem to be done how Jehan had done it, but he eventually shook his head and placed the kitten—his citoyen, he told himself, until it was named—back in the basket. It squealed a bit, but settled down at the tentative touch of his hand and began to knead the blankets with its front paws.

He watched it as he prepared for bed and when he went to lie down he took the basket with him. Why he did not know. But as he closed his eyes, making a mental note to wake in two hours or so to feed his kitten again, he felt strangely affectionate towards the tiny purring creature in the basket by his pillow.


End file.
